


why don't you let her go?

by RestlessWanderings



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/F, Hopeful Ending, Post-Season/Series 03, Season 3 Spoilers, dealing with trauma but lightly, hurt!catra, hurt!scorpia, scorpia is Disappointed, set immediately after Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 20:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20088613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestlessWanderings/pseuds/RestlessWanderings
Summary: a conversation between catra and scorpia set immediately after the season 3 finale.----Scorpia’s knees grow weak from relief. “Hey, Wildcat,” she says, holding out a claw. “Come on, we need to leave.”Catra steps back, ears flattening, gaze darting from Scorpia’s outstretched claw to Hordak’s disappearing back. She shakes her head. “Get lost, Scorpia.”The words sting more than Scorpia can say, but she stays firm. “You don’t mean that.”“Yes I do,” Catra snarls, voice high-pitched and cracking. Scorpia spots tears welling up and her own eyes sting in response.





	why don't you let her go?

**Author's Note:**

> ANYWAY im severely shook
> 
> im emo and full of Emotions and idk i really just needed to write this
> 
> and yES IM LISTENING TO 'SHE'S SO MEAN' BY MATCHBOX 20 ON REPEAT DONT @ ME
> 
> anyway gotta go like. cry for the next 100 yrs

The first thing Scorpia does after the room stops spinning is head for Catra. There’s not much time – cracks split the walls, debris falling and shattering the floor.

She remembers, too late, to spare a second for Entrapta. She’ll deal with the guilt later.

The floor beneath her feet sways as another rumble shakes the building. The metal creaks and groans, beginning to buckle, and Scorpia’s pulse beats loud in her ears as she sprints through the familiar hallways. She rounds a corner and –

Cold, clammy hands shove her out of the way. Her salute is instinctive and sloppy, but Lord Hordak doesn’t even glance her way.

And there, trailing behind him, is Catra.

Catra, fur fluffed up, wild-eyed, panting. Catra, all sharp claws and sharper tongue.

Scorpia’s knees grow weak from relief. “Hey, Wildcat,” she says, holding out a claw. “Come on, we need to leave.”

Catra steps back, ears flattening, gaze darting from Scorpia’s outstretched claw to Hordak’s disappearing back. She shakes her head. “Get lost, Scorpia.”

The words sting more than Scorpia can say, but she stays firm. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I _do,_” Catra snarls, voice high-pitched and cracking. Scorpia spots tears welling up and her own eyes sting in response.

Another rumble shakes the castle, and Scorpia’s body moves without her command, scooping Catra up before a chunk of the ceiling can flatten them. She runs, dodging debris, and ignores the harsh scrape of Catra’s claws on her exoskeleton, ignores Catra’s hissed threats, ignores the way those teeth dig deep into the meat of where her shoulder meets her neck, canines slicing through the fabric.

Scorpia remembers almost nothing of the flight from the Fright Zone. The only goal is to keep Catra safe, to make sure she doesn’t wriggle out of her grasp. She tightens her grip until she hears a pained gasp and even then only loosens it a little.

Her wildcat is smart and knows exactly how to play her.

Just this once she’ll have to hurt her.

It all blurs together – the Fright Zone, the desolate fields surrounding it, all grey and greasy green. Scorpia plows on, unbidden, matching her feet to the thudding of her heartbeat until she sees the Whispering Woods in the distance and heads there. Cover. That’s what they need. Something to keep them hidden while they take a breather and figure out the next steps.

She takes a few steps into the Whispering Woods before setting Catra down. Turns away. Begins plucking leaves from a nearby tree and pressing them to the bite mark Catra’s left, wincing at the sting. Her exoskeleton will be fine, but the deep gouges will remain and ache for months.

When she turns back to Catra her heart sinks.

“What have you done?” Catra hisses, her voice choked. She bares her claws and pain and Scorpia’s chest constricts.

“I made sure you got out of there alive,” Scorpia says.

“_And _you let Hordak leave. How am I supposed to find him now?”

Scorpia blinks. “I let? _I _let Hordak leave? Oh, okay, so we’re going to completely ignore the part where you tased Entrapta and _threatened me?”_

Catra scoffs. “I did what I had to do.”

“Which was what, exactly, Catra?” Scorpia yells, throwing up her claws. “How was opening a portal that would destroy Etheria _anything _other than a complete overreaction?”

Catra’s lip curls, her teeth glinting. “I’ll give you an overreaction,” she says. 

Scorpia barely gets her claws up in time to fend off Catra’s attack. She shoves the magicat away but Catra, is two steps ahead. She always is.

It’s a split-second decision: either let Catra’s hit land or block her, but in doing so hurt her.

Despite it all, it’s not a decision.

Scorpia closes her eyes and grunts as Catra’s claws scrape down her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her cheek, her throat.

For one sick, blood-freezing moment, Scorpia thinks that the claws have gone too deep, have hit her jugular, and after everything she’s going to bleed out here in the Whispering Woods without having said what she needs to say.

She opens her eyes. Takes in Catra’s pinprick pupils, lashing tail, flattened ears, and sighs. “Do you feel better?”

Catra caves in a bit, as if Scorpia’s punched her in the chest. “No.”

Scorpia nods, wincing as the new wounds begin burning. “Good. Because I’m not fighting you, Wildcat.”

“Why?” Catra says, voice small and defeated and _oh, _if that doesn’t make Scorpia want to wrap her wildcat up in a blanket and never let go she doesn’t know what will. “Why don’t you hate me? After what I’ve just done? After _everything _I’ve done?”

It takes every ounce of self-control for Scorpia not to grab Catra’s trembling form and hug her to bite. “I could never hate you, Wildcat. I can’t say I’m happy with you right now, but I don’t hate you.”

The sound Catra makes is half sob, half keen, and tears spill from her eyes. “You’re a fool.”

Scorpia sighs. Her limbs feel heavy and she’d give anything for a long, deep sleep. But there’s so much to do. She takes the bottom of her uniform shirt between her claws and rips it, fashioning it into a haphazard bandage that she clumsily wraps around her face.

“I’ve been called worse, you know, over less important things,” she says, trying to catch Catra’s eyes.

Catra refuses to meet her gaze. “I’m going to find Hordak.”

Scorpia shakes her head. “There’s more to life than the Horde, you know. You don’t have to be a soldier anymore. You don’t have to deal with Adora and the Princesses if you don’t want to. You can come with me,” she says, smiling despite the way it hurts. “Back to the Crimson Wastes. We were happy there.”

The heat, the dry air, the never-ending sunlight. Something in both of them, some wild thing that always kept them moving, had finally settled in that arid land. She’d never seen Catra so unwound, so utterly in her element, so perfectly in control. They’d held hands. Catra had _laughed – _really laughed, the kind of laugh that Scorpia only ever _dreamed _she’d one-day coax out of her wildcat.

“We can go back,” she says, unable to help the wistful tone in her voice. “You and me, Wildcat.”

Catra shakes her head, backing away. “There’s no going back, not from this.” 

“No,” Scorpia says, following her step for step. “There is, I promi–”

“I don’t want you,” Catra says, voice flat, eyes flat, body flat.

Scorpia sucks in a breath. “What?” 

“I don’t want the Crimson Wastes, I don’t want happiness, and I _definitely _don’t want you.”

Scorpia’s eyes burn and she lets the tears flow. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Did you ever really think we were friends?” Catra says, cocking her head to the side, a ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. “That’s adorable.”

“No,” Scorpia says, voice breaking. Had those glances meant nothing? “This is what you do, wildcat, you push people away until they’ve had enough and don’t come back.”

Catra shrugs. “Maybe. But that doesn’t make any difference. I don’t want you. I never have.”

Scorpia sniffles. “Stop this. You don’t mean it.” 

“Are you sure about that?”

No. Not really. Not fully. After Shadow Weaver’s escape things had escalated so quickly, had gotten so far out of anyone’s control that Scorpia’s head is still spinning with it. “Catra,” she says, all desperation and pleading and not an ounce of shame. “You’re hurting me because you’re scared. You don’t mean any of this.”

“I’m not scared,” Catra says. Fire flickers in those yellow-blue eyes and Scorpia breathes out. Good. Anything to chase away that flat, empty gaze.

“You are,” Scorpia says. “And that’s okay because I am too. I don’t know what to do, I don’t really understand what’s happening, and I really don’t know how this whole portal mess is going to affect everything. But I know one thing.” She takes a deep breath and straightens her spine. “You’re the most important person in my life, Catra. And yes, you’ve hurt me in many different ways these past few days, but I’m still here.” She looks at Catra, pausing until Catra meets her eyes.

It takes a few moments. Catra’s gaze flitting across Scorpia’s face and skittering away again, like some small scared animal. But Scorpia waits, and when those yellow-blue eyes meet hers she gives Catra the warmest smile she can. “I’m not leaving you, Catra.”

Catra’s shoulders, always tense, always guarded, relax. Barely, minutely, but Scorpia spots the slight shift and something warm uncurls in her chest.

“Fine,” Catra says, stepping forward. Slips close enough so that Scorpia can feel her body heat but not quite close enough to touch. “What now?”

Scorpia shrugs. This isn’t the end, not by a long shot. Even if they leave the Horde and the Rebellion behind, there’s so much of Catra that needs to be rebuilt. So much work that only Catra can do, and all Scorpia will be able to do is watch, and hope, and encourage.

She takes a deep breath. Closes her eyes. Imagines a hot sun and an arid landscape. Imagines a place no one will look for them.

“The Crimson Wastes, I guess. If that’s alright with you?” 

Catra nods. “It’ll do.” 

Scorpia steps forwards, leading the way, and Catra follows close enough that every few steps her hand brushes Scorpia’s claw.

There’s more to talk about. More wounds to heal, more words to be said, more to fix. But this will do, for just this moment.


End file.
